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      When a TikTok Influencer Dances, Who Gets Credit?

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      Late last month, the TikTok influencer Addison Rae went on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” and casually performed a suite of recent viral dance routines in a comedic skit. Critics reacted with cries of appropriation — the dances’ creators, many of them Black, were not credited — and with dismissals of Rae’s dancing ability.What the producers of the skit failed to acknowledge is how dance credits have become integral to TikTok, as they have been on apps where dance was previously popular, like Instagram and Dubsmash. Influencers like Rae and Charli D’Amelio might be the most well-known dancers on TikTok, but they are vessels for dances created by a range of others, from professional choreographers looking for a jolt of virality to teenagers working out new moves in their basement.On this week’s Popcast, a conversation about the ways dance has been central to the spread of TikTok, the relationship between Black choreographers and white influencers and a pocket history of dance credits on social media.GuestTaylor Lorenz, The New York Times technology reporter More

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      Phoebe Bridgers Reworks Paul McCartney, and 11 More New Songs

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      Hear tracks by Andra Day, London Grammar, José González and others.Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos. Just want the music? Listen to the Playlist on Spotify here (or find our profile: nytimes). Like what you hear? Let us know at theplaylist@nytimes.com and sign up for our Louder newsletter, a once-a-week blast of our pop music coverage.Paul McCartney featuring Phoebe Bridgers, ‘Seize the Day’Don’t take Paul McCartney’s enduring gifts — natural melody, succinctly surprising lyrics, sly chord progressions, tidy arrangements — for granted. Other songwriters don’t. Lest anyone has, the 78-year-old Sir Paul enlisted younger admirers (Beck, St. Vincent, Blood Orange, Anderson .Paak, Josh Homme, Dominic Fike) to rework the songs from his 2020 solo-in-the-studio album, “McCartney III,” as the new “McCartney III Imagined.” Phoebe Bridgers took on “Seize the Day,” a manifesto of unironic good intentions: “I’m OK with a sunny day when the world deserves to be bright.” She brings her own spirit of hushed discovery to the song, keeping McCartney’s march tempo but toning down his electric guitars. She ends her version with church bells, like a blessing. JON PARELESLucy Dacus, ‘Hot & Heavy’Since joining forces as boygenius, two-thirds of the band, Phoebe Bridgers and Julien Baker, have released searing solo albums that took their already strong songwriting to the next level. Now, it appears to be Lucy Dacus’s turn. “Hot & Heavy” begins in a synthesized glow, for a moment seeming like it might be a continuation of the stark sound she conjured on the recently released “Thumbs.” But it doesn’t take long for “Hot & Heavy” to kick into a gallop, coming alive with chiming guitars and gleaming pop-rock flourishes that recall “Full Moon Fever”-era Tom Petty. “You used to be so sweet,” Dacus sings on this tale of stinging nostalgia, “Now you’re a firecracker on a crowded street.” LINDSAY ZOLADZFiona Apple, ‘Love More’Ten years ago, Sharon Van Etten released her first great album, “Epic,” an enduringly wrenching account of a troubled relationship’s dissolution. To commemorate its anniversary, an impressive and eclectic array of artists — Lucinda Williams, Courtney Barnett, Shamir — contributed to a covers collection called “Epic Ten.” The ultimate co-sign, though, comes from the indomitable Fiona Apple, who offers her own interpretation of the album’s beautiful closing track, “Love More.” Van Etten’s version was a sparsely poignant dirge, buoyed by gentle waves of harmonium chords. Apple, instead, anchors hers to an almost chant-like rhythm accompanied by playfully layered backing vocal runs — though her delivery of the song’s verses provides the smoldering intensity these lyrics call for. “Chained to the wall of our room,” goes the opening line. Leave it to Fiona to fetch the bolt cutters. ZOLADZAndra Day, ‘Phone Dies’“We can feel these vibes until my phone dies,” Andra Day offers, casually pitting the promise of romance against limited battery life. In Anderson .Paak’s blithe, tricky production, a frisky Brazilian beat carries Day’s multitracked vocals through a maze of chromatic chords that gives the illusion of climbing higher and higher, all the way to a sudden, giggly end. PARELESTirzah, ‘Send Me’It’s been three years since the London artist and Mica Levi collaborator Tirzah released her hypnotic debut album “Devotion,” but the new single “Send Me” transports the listener right back to that singularly chill head space. “Send Me” is built from simple materials — a repeated guitar lick, a hi-hat loop and Tirzah’s sultry, Sade-like vocals — but combined they somehow create a dense, enveloping atmosphere. “Let me heal and now I’m sure, now I’m sure,” Tirzah sings, her words seeming to turn to vapor on the exhales. It’s a whole vibe. ZOLADZSaweetie and Drakeo the Ruler, ‘Risky’It’s only April, but Saweetie is already wishing you a very pretty summer. Her new single “Risky” is at once effortless and exuberant, patiently waiting for whenever the weather permits you to roll the windows down. Drakeo the Ruler’s murmuring flow provides a perfect counterpoint to Saweetie’s bombast (“All this ice drippin’ on my body like a runny nose”), while a minimalist beat provides plenty of space for her personality to shine like a freshly painted ride. ZOLADZMick Jagger with Dave Grohl, ‘Eazy Sleazy’For Mick Jagger, quarantine fatigue has curdled into sarcastic exasperation. “Eazy Sleazy” is a late-pandemic rant, a stomping, mocking checklist of sloppy rhymes and coronavirus-year phenomena, from “Cancel all the tours/football’s fake applause” to “TikTok stupid dance” to “Way too much TV” to wacky conspiracy theories. Dave Grohl, an accomplished student of classic rock, reconstituted the full Rolling Stones sound behind Jagger’s rhythm guitar, and every few lines there’s a scream tossed into the mix. The chorus looks forward to a “freaky” reopening, when “It’ll only be a memory you’re trying to remember to forget”; this song will be a throwaway souvenir. PARELESLondon Grammar, ‘Lord It’s a Feeling’Hannah Reid, London Grammar’s singer, plays a not-so-impartial observer in “Lord It’s a Feeling.” She stacks up the misdeeds of a friend’s callous, cheating lover — “I saw the way you laughed behind her back” — before revealing, “I can admit that I have been right here myself.” A decorous string orchestra backs her at first, as she sings in her purest tones. But when her own stake becomes clear, a beat kicks in, her voice hardens and the observer becomes the accuser. PARELESJosé González, ‘Visions’It’s a small world. José González, born in Sweden to Argentine parents, carries on a British tradition of folky, meditative singer-songwriters. “Visions,” built from vocal harmonies and acoustic-guitar picking, takes an eternal perspective on “sentient beings” who should “look at the magic of reality/while accepting the honesty that we can’t know for sure what’s next.” Accompanied by his guitar drone, distant electronics and bird song, he notes, as a kind of mantra, “We are here together.” PARELESLea Bertucci, ‘An Arc of the Horizon’Place is central to the music of Lea Bertucci, a multi-instrumentalist and sound artist whose recordings often spring from questions about how physical environments express themselves through sound. But her work isn’t meant to just document the sonic qualities of a place; through a process of layering and abstraction, Bertucci gives us something closer to the residue of an experience or a vanished memory. On her new self-released album, “A Visible Length of Light,” ambient recordings she captured in New York, Rio de Janeiro, California and Nebraska haunt tracks featuring lightly droning organ, bass clarinet, wood flute and saxophone. It’s not clear where the sounds on “An Arc of the Horizon” were captured, but instead the music — spatial more than melodic — becomes an environment of its own. GIOVANNI RUSSONELLOWadada Leo Smith, Douglas R. Ewart and Mike Reed, ‘Super Moon Rising’Rustle, resonance and attentive listening are the coins of the realm when the trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith, the multi-reedist Douglas R. Ewart and the drummer Mike Reed come together. They’ve performed as a trio only rarely, but all three are improvisers and organizers with roots on the Chicago avant-garde and histories of involvement in the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians. “Super Moon Rising” is the centerpiece of their new album, “Sun Beans of Shimmering Light,” which connects to a long tradition of recordings by AACM-affiliated musicians that treat sparse and spacious free improvising as a style unto itself. RUSSONELLOSpirit of the Beehive, ‘Rapid & Complete Recovery’“Rapid & Complete Recovery” passes, briefly, as one of the milder, more approachable songs in Spirit of the Beehive’s catalog of dense, overloaded, compulsively morphing and often nerve-racking songs. It’s from the Philadelphia band’s new album, “Entertainment, Death,” and with its jazz-tinged opening bass vamp and acoustic-guitar syncopations it could pass for Laurel Canyon pop-folk — if not for its nagging high synthesizer tones, its cranked-up drums, its swerve into spoken words and the way instruments and vocals echo and melt at the end. “No limitations, you know what I’m after,” Zack Schwartz and Rivka Ravede calmly sing, perhaps as a partial explanation. PARELES More

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      Rod Wave and Lil Tjay, Two Brands of Sing-Rap With Different Bite

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      Rod Wave’s new album “SoulFly” extracts maximum melancholy, while Lil Tjay’s “Destined 2 Win” can’t find a firm grip.“Tombstone,” from the excellent new Rod Wave album “SoulFly,” is a startling soul hymn about unshoulderable weight. Wave, 21, is a tender singer deploying the cadences of a rapper, and on this song he finds a way to sing — about the burdens of fame and how they are simply high-priced replacements for the burdens that came before fame — with gospel-like invigoration and blues contemplation.Last week, just after “SoulFly,” Wave’s third album, debuted atop the Billboard album chart, Wave performed “Tombstone” on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon.” Singing on a riverside porch, Wave gave off an air both baptismal and funereal:I keep my gun in my draws, ducking the sad newsMy phone say seven missed calls, I know it’s bad newsThis life had left me so scarred, I’m knowing that’s trueRemember times got so hard, I got it tattooedOne week after the release of “SoulFly” came the second album from the 19-year-old Lil Tjay, “Destined 2 Win,” which just debuted at No. 5. If Wave is the bluesman of this generation of sing-rappers, Tjay is the sweet crooner. Both traverse the same subject matter — more money, more problems; untrustworthy partners and the loyal ones who make up for it; skepticism about just how steady their perches are. But where Wave extracts maximum melancholy from these themes, Tjay’s approach is thinner and more brittle, rarely landing hard on a solid feeling.Wave is perhaps the pre-eminent hip-hop emoter of the last couple of years, and he chooses templates that allow his voice to ooze freely: guitar-led arrangements that recall schlocky 1980s radio rock, or elemental drum patterns. Many of the songs are short — a couple of choruses and a verse, sometimes just the verse. And Wave has a particular way of handling some of his line-ending syllables, breaking them into three descending steps, as if giving himself over to gravity.Mostly, he leans in to lamentation, like on “Gone Till November” and “How the Game Go,” plangent takes on overcoming adversity. On “Don’t Forget,” in between snippets of an old aggrieved Pimp C interview, Wave displays at least a brief glimmer of boast: “Rod crashed the ’Vette, but he came back in a better one/‘Rod fixed the ’Vette?’ Nah dog, this here the second one.”On paper, Tjay is working similar emotional territory. “I just rap about my pain ’cause I know others could relate,” he insists on “Slow Down.” And dating back to his earliest singles, like “Brothers,” Tjay has taken a microscope to the conditions that raised him. On “Nuf Said,” he nails a particular kind of intractable sadness relating a friend’s predicament: “Broski on the phone, he just want another chance to live/But he on his own so long in the cell, he say ‘the crib.’”Tjay’s voice is high-pitched — he’s one of a handful of current saccharine sing-rappers, including Lil Mosey — and his approach is melodic but not particularly soothing. His delivery can feel staccato, and so can his lyrics, which on songs like “Part of the Plan” tend toward the non sequitur, rhyming syllables tacked onto jumbled thoughts.On “Headshot,” the most recent single from this album, he follows his two guests, Polo G and Fivio Foreign, both of whom land harder than he does. In that way, it recalls “Mood Swings,” Tjay’s collaboration with Pop Smoke from last year, which was a hit on TikTok, largely as the soundtrack for comedic sketches about inappropriate older family members.They start with a starry-eyed kid sweetly lip syncing to Tjay about the object of their affection: “Shawty a little baddie, she my lil’ boo thang.” Then an older figure echoes them, lip syncing to Pop Smoke: “And shawty got the fatty.” The younger person agrees, lip syncing as Tjay concurs, “Shawty got the fatty,” before breaking character and staring at the flirtatious intruder, aghast.The interaction in these skits, and in the song, is almost primal — Pop Smoke, the gruff alpha, out to tame Tjay, and possibly walk off with his woman. It’s about power, but also authority. While those around him are staking hard claims to emotions and everything else, Tjay is still casting about, looking for a firm grip.Rod Wave“SoulFly”(Alamo)Lil Tjay“Destined 2 Win”(Columbia) More

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      The Telling of DMX’s Life Story

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      At the end of the 1990s, there was no rapper more popular than DMX, who rode a series of energized and earnest hits to the top of the Billboard album chart with each of his first five albums.The life he lived — from a childhood marked by abuse to an adulthood clouded by addiction — was robust, stormy and signature. He died on Friday at 50, after suffering what his family called “a catastrophic cardiac arrest” a week earlier.On this week’s Popcast, a conversation about the peaks and valleys of DMX’s career, the intense potency of his music and his religious fervor and what it was like to interview him.Guest:Smokey Fontaine, the co-author, with DMX, of the 2002 book “E.A.R.L.: The Autobiography of DMX”; a former music editor of The Source magazine; and the current editor in chief of the Apple App Store. More

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      DMX, Rapper Who Dominated Billboard Charts, Dies at 50

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      He released a string of No. 1 albums that reflected his gritty past and featured a gruff and unmistakable lyrical style.Earl Simmons, the snarling yet soulful rapper known as DMX, who had a string of No. 1 albums in the late 1990s and early 2000s but whose personal struggles eventually rivaled his lyrical prowess, died on Friday in White Plains, N.Y. He was 50.His family announced the death in a statement. He had been on life support at White Plains Hospital after suffering what his family called “a catastrophic cardiac arrest” a week earlier.“Earl was a warrior who fought till the very end,” the Simmons family said. “He loved his family with all of his heart, and we cherish the times we spent with him.”On April 2, Mr. Simmons had a heart attack at his home in White Plains. In the days that followed, his representatives said he was on life support “in a vegetative state.” Outside of the hospital, family and friends gathered with hundreds of fans, playing DMX’s music aloud and praying, holding up their arms in the shape of an X.Mr. Simmons’s music was often menacing and dark, with the occasional nod to Christian spirituality. He committed crimes, served time in different correctional institutions and battled addiction long before he released an album, and his troubled past informed the gritty content and inimitable delivery of his rhymes.He barked over the chorus of “Get at Me Dog,” the breakout single from his 1998 debut album, “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot.”“His throat seems to hold a fuzzbox and a foghorn, and between songs he growled and barked,” Jon Pareles of The New York Times wrote of a Simmons concert performance in 2000. “In his raps, the gangsta life is a living hell, a constant test of loyalty and resolve.”He rapped with an explosive cadence on “Party Up (Up in Here),” the big hit from his 1999 album “ … And Then There Was X”; raw braggadocio on “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem,” a tribute to his record label on his 1998 debut album, “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot”; and a more introspective, brooding delivery on “Damien,” a story about making a murderous bargain with a demonic benefactor.“Why is it every move I make turns out to be a bad one?” Mr. Simmons asks in “Damien.” “Where’s my guardian angel? Need one, wish I had one.”Mr. Simmons, who sold millions of records and was nominated for three Grammy Awards, was the first musician whose first five albums reached No. 1 on the Billboard chart. He was the standout artist on the Ruff Ryders label, often rapping over tracks by the star D.J. and producer Swizz Beatz. Rappers like Eve, Drag-On and the Lox, a group made up of Jadakiss, Styles P and Sheek Louch, also recorded on the label.Mr. Simmons was known for electrifying concert audiences. In 2000, the critic Elvis Mitchell wrote in The Times about his “remarkable and combative stage presence” in the concert documentary “Backstage,” which followed him and rappers like Jay-Z and Redman on the 1999 “Hard Knock Life” tour.“Bombastic and hot-blooded, he holds court in a singular fashion, exercising sheer force of will to pull the spotlight down on himself and demanding the crowd’s attention,” Mr. Mitchell wrote.Mr. Simmons starred with the rappers Nas and Method Man in Hype Williams’s 1998 gangster film, “Belly”; appeared in the 2000 action movie “Romeo Must Die” with Jet Li and the R&B singer Aaliyah; and starred with Steven Seagal in the 2001 action film “Exit Wounds.” The BET cable channel provided a closer look at his personal life with the 2006 reality series “DMX: Soul of a Man.”The macho, streetwise persona Mr. Simmons projected in his music was reinforced by repeated arrests on charges including fraud, assault, weapons possession, narcotics possession and driving under the influence.He served jail time after pleading guilty in 2008 to animal cruelty, drug possession and theft; in 2018 he was sentenced to a year in prison for tax evasion.He released several more albums over the years, including “Grand Champ” (2003) and “Undisputed” (2012). But with his frequent run-ins with the law, he never regained the success of his earlier days.DMX performing in New York in 2012. His long struggle with drugs, the bleak circumstances of his childhood and their impact on his life informed his music.Chad Batka for The New York TimesBorn in Mount Vernon, N.Y., on Dec. 18, 1970, Earl Simmons was the first and only child of Arnett Simmons and Joe Barker. He grew up in Yonkers, a city just north of the Bronx that became a hotbed of racial tension in the 1980s.His father was an itinerant artist whom he rarely saw, and his mother struggled to raise him and his half sister Bonita in a violent neighborhood. In his memoir, “E.A.R.L.: The Autobiography of DMX” (2002, with Smokey D. Fontaine), he wrote that there was often little food at home while he was growing up and that as a precocious, hot-tempered and disobedient child, he was often beaten by his mother and her lovers. (Information on his survivors was not immediately available.)Mr. Simmons turned to street crime as he grew older, spending much of his childhood and teenage years in group homes or juvenile detention facilities, where, he wrote, he sometimes faced solitary confinement. He became an adept car thief and robber, he said, often using vicious dogs to intimidate victims.“I was straight stickup,” Mr. Simmons wrote. “I’d rob three times a day: before school, after school and on the late night.”In the late 1980s he started performing as a beatboxer, creating beats using only his mouth, with a local rapper named Ready Ron. (He took the name DMX from the Oberheim DMX drum machine, a model popular in the 1980s.) He said he was 14 when Ready Ron introduced him to crack cocaine by passing him what Mr. Simmons thought was marijuana.“I later found out that he laced the blunt with crack,” Mr. Simmons told the rapper Talib Kweli in an interview last year. “Why would you do that to a child?” He became addicted to it.His long struggle with drugs, his bleak childhood and their impact on his life informed his music — he titled a 2001 album “The Great Depression” — and many of his most swaggering songs conveyed hints of lingering trauma.“All I know is pain/All I feel is rain/How can I maintain?” he raps near the start of “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem.”In 1997 he was featured, along with Method Man, Redman, Master P and Canibus, on the LL Cool J song “4, 3, 2, 1.” He was also on Mase’s “24 Hrs. to Live” and, with Lil’ Kim, the Lox’s “Money, Power, Respect.” Those high-profile guest appearances led to a contract with Def Jam, Ruff Ryders’ parent company; his first two albums came out in 1998.Before breaking through as a rap star, Mr. Simmons made a name for himself as a nasty battle rapper in the early 1990s.“I always made it personal,” he wrote in his memoir. “Nothing was too rude or vicious for me because I didn’t care.”Joe Coscarelli contributed reporting. More

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      Prince’s Unearthed, Disillusioned Funk, and 10 More New Songs

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      Hear tracks by Doja Cat featuring SZA, Twenty One Pilots and Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi.Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos. Just want the music? Listen to the Playlist on Spotify here (or find our profile: nytimes). Like what you hear? Let us know at theplaylist@nytimes.com and sign up for our Louder newsletter, a once-a-week blast of our pop music coverage.Prince, ‘Welcome 2 America’Prince recorded an album called “Welcome 2 America” in 2010, but shelved it before his death in 2016; his estate will release it in July. Maybe Prince decided the album was too bleak. Its title song is ominous, funky, seemingly improvisational and deeply cynical about an era of misinformation, exploitation and distraction. A pithy, stop-start bass line leaves space for dissonant little solos, while Prince’s vocals are deadpan spoken words: “Truth is a new minority.” He’s answered by women singing precise, jazzy harmonies and layering on more messages: “Land of the free, home of the brave,” they sing with a swinging lilt. “Oops, I mean, land of the free, home of the slave.” JON PARELESDoja Cat featuring SZA, ‘Kiss Me More’The first single from the forthcoming Doja Cat album “Planet Her” features SZA and mixes the breeze of lite 1980s funk with the bawdiness of 2020s hip-hop, a juggling act that Doja Cat has pioneered, if not trademarked, by now. JON CARAMANICAMajid Jordan, ‘Waves of Blue’Crisply ecstatic new-wave R&B from the Toronto duo Majid Jordan. What’s most impressive about “Waves of Blue,” besides its spot on texture, is its modesty — the singer Majid Al Maskati doesn’t over-sing to emphasize his point, and the producer Jordan Ullman builds synths like pillars, unostentatiously building a whole world. CARAMANICATwenty One Pilots, ‘Shy Away’“Shy Away,” the first song from a May album called “Scaled and Icy” from the genre-agnostic Ohio duo Twenty One Pilots, starts off as jittery electro before expanding into the dreamy, arms-outstretched pop that keeps arenas and hearts full. There’s a Strokesian energy to the track, but the lyrics don’t bristle with angst; they (not so gently) nudge a loved one to start on a new path. CARYN GANZMiguel, ‘So I Lie’Over the last decade, Miguel has placed his darkest thoughts and most experimental music on his series of “Art Dealer Chic” EPs; he released “Art Dealer Chic Vol. 4” on Friday. In “So I Lie,” he sings, in a soulful falsetto, about fear, pressure, and alienation from himself: “I can barely breathe, treading water/Smile on my face while I’m turning blue/Nobody cares, just work harder/I do what I can to avoid the truth.” The chorus, repeating, “Lie, lie, lie,” would almost be jaunty if it weren’t surrounded in swampy rhythms, wordless voices and hollow echoes, like all the anxieties he can’t evade. PARELESCoultrain, ‘The Essentials’A singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist hailing from St. Louis, Aaron Michael Frison has been making music as Coultrain for well over a decade, pulling together what sounds like a hybrid of the early 2000s Soulquarian scene, the spiritual jazz of Lonnie Liston Smith and the kind of dusty old Southern soul records that you’d find hiding in the dollar bin. On “The Essentials,” from his new album, “Phantasmagoria,” over a glutinous backing of synths, vocal overdubs, bass and drums, he professes his commitment (“’Cause there’s no other for me/It ain’t no coincidence that you reflect my eyes”) before dipping into a wily rap verse and capping things with a mystical choral passage that sounds a note of uncertainty: “I wish I could promise forever/If I could promise forever/I would promise forever to you,” he sings, the layers of his voice all in a conversation with each other. GIOVANNI RUSSONELLORhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi, ‘Calling Me Home’Looming mortality becomes a refuge in “Calling Me Home,” written by the celebrated old-timey singer Alice Gerrard. It’s the sentiment of a man on his deathbed: “I miss my friends of yesterday.” The song provides the title for “They’re Calling Me Home,” the new album by the opera-trained singer, fiddler, banjo player and traditional-music explorer (and MacArthur “genius grant” recipient) Rhiannon Giddens with her partner, the early music expert Francesco Turrisi. She sings it in long-breathed lines, sometimes ended in Appalachian yips, accompanied by stark, unyielding drones, as if she’s a lone voice making itself heard before eternity. PARELESKat & Alex, ‘Heartbreak Tour’An earnest power country slow-burner from the new duo Kat & Alex, who competed on “American Idol” last year, and who sing in both Spanish and English (though not here), “Heartbreak Tour” is delivered with soul music conviction and just the right touch of melodrama. CARAMANICAMon Laferte featuring Gloria Trevi, ‘La Mujer’The Chilean singer Mon Laferte infuses vintage styles with up-to-date sentiments and fierce attitude. Her new album, “Seis,” looks toward Mexican music, and she shares “La Mujer” (“The Woman”) with one of her idols: the Mexican singer and songwriter Gloria Trevi. They trade verses and share choruses in a bolero with punchy organ chords and rowdy horns, escalating from sultry self-confidence to unbridled fury at a man who’s getting decisively dumped: “Goodbye, sad coward,” is Laferte’s final sneer. PARELESQueen Naija featuring Ari Lennox, ‘Set Him Up’Over a slow-motion strut of a bass line and a glass of chardonnay in the lyrics, Queen Naija and Ari Lennox sweetly intertwine their voices, enjoying each other’s explicit details about their latest hookups. Then they realize it’s the same guy — and the conversation turns into a conspiracy to “Set Him Up.” Female solidarity reigns. PARELESSteve Slagle, ‘We Release’Riding a slick, whipsaw groove, “We Release” casually calls back to a mainstream jazz sound from the 1970s, while serving as a proud opening shot for the saxophonist Steve Slagle’s new album, “Nascentia.” Now 69, he composed and recorded all the material during the coronavirus pandemic, providing him a project and a jolt of energy amid trying times. An unerring optimism of spirit is palpable throughout, as he’s joined here by a number of fellow jazz veterans: Jeremy Pelt on trumpet, Clark Gayton on trombone, Bruce Barth on piano, Ugonna Okegwo on bass and Jason Tiemann on drums. RUSSONELLO More

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      DMX Songs: Hear 10 Songs That Showed His Range

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      The gruff, evocative Yonkers rapper was a singular talent in hip-hop. He died on Friday after suffering what his family called “a catastrophic cardiac arrest” a week earlier.Earl Simmons, the gruff, evocative rapper from Yonkers, N.Y., better known as DMX, died on Friday at 50. He spent his final days on life support at White Plains Hospital in Westchester County after suffering a heart attack on April 2.DMX was one of the most recognizable M.C.s in the late 1990s and early 2000s, years when hardcore New York rap could still stake a claim as hip-hop’s central concern.Signed to Def Jam Recordings, his first five albums all debuted at No. 1, a feat no rapper has matched before or since. DMX cut a unique figure for a superstar rapper: He’d battle his inner demons using the horror-centric imagery beloved by heavy metal bands, but his albums reliably offered heartfelt, often a cappella, prayers to God. He made giant pop crossover hits, but they bubbled with wildly vivid threats better suited for a grindhouse theater. His shout-rap energy made him a favorite in the outwardly angsty era of Woodstock ’99 and the nü-metal band Korn’s Family Values Tour, but he was also a shirtless sex symbol moonlighting as an actor.Here’s a small sampling of an artist with a range that encompassed the shocking, the sincere and the simply incredible. (Listen on Spotify here.)‘Born Loser’ (1993)After years spent as a ruthless battle rapper, mixtape hustler and early beneficiary of The Source magazine’s Unsigned Hype column, DMX and the nascent Ruff Ryders label released the rarely heard “Born Loser” on a handful of 12-inch records. Soon after, “Born Loser” became the lone song released as part of DMX’s false start with Columbia Records. Both DMX and the rapper K-Solo had claimed a rhyme style where individual words in bars are spelled out. For example, on his 1990 hit “Spellbound,” K-Solo raps “I s-p-e-l-l very w-e-l-l/I only spell so all can t-e-l-l.” After the success of “Spellbound,” DMX wrote this track while fuming in a Westchester prison cell. “Born Loser” was not a hit, but as a punchline rap where DMX makes himself the punchline, it would foreshadow the self-eviscerating rhymes of rappers like Eminem and Fatlip: “They kicked me out the shelter because they said I smelled a/Little like the living dead and looked like Helter Skelter.”LL Cool J featuring Redman, Method Man, Canibus and DMX, ‘4, 3, 2, 1’ (1997)This single would be epochal for multiple reasons. It sparked the lyrical war between LL Cool J and Canibus, perhaps the last consequential wax battle held on actual vinyl — soon such things were fought in the fields of mixtapes and MP3s. And “4, 3, 2, 1” was the breakout single for DMX, then a new Def Jam signee, who holds his own against members of an elite tier of M.C.s. Here, he raps death threats with a filmmaker’s eye for detail: “Believe what I say when I tell you/Don’t make me put you somewhere where nobody can smell you.”DMX featuring Sheek Louch, ‘Get at Me Dog’ (1998)DMX recorded his debut Def Jam solo single amid the era of ’80s pop samples, big-budget videos and a general sentiment of getting “jiggy.” “I wasn’t down with all that pretty, happy-go-lucky [expletive],” DMX said in “E.A.R.L.: The Autobiography of DMX.” He added that Sean “Puffy” Combs “had the radio on lock, the clubs on fire, had people thinking that hip-hop was all about bright lights and shiny suits and smiled all the way to the bank — X, on the other hand, still lived in the dark.” “Get at Me Dog” is pure, unfiltered rhyming over a loop of the disco-funk band B.T. Express. If it sounds like a mixtape rap, that’s how it started: The beat and hook were part of a freestyle for DJ Clue. The song not only introduced DMX the solo artist, but introduced his trademark barking and growling, sounds inspired by his beloved pitbulls. The video — a black-and-white affair directed by Hype Williams — was filmed at New York’s hip-hop meeting ground the Tunnel, where Funkmaster Flex held court on Sunday nights. The song became one of the most beloved “Tunnel bangers.”‘Ruff Ryders’ Anthem’ (1998)The third single from DMX’s debut album, “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot,” gleamed a little brighter than its predecessors. His rhymes were no less uncompromising and violent — “Had it, shoulda shot it/Now you’re dearly departed,” he raps. But the song heralded the blipping, pixelated debut of the producer Swizz Beatz, whose sound would ultimately define the next few years of the Ruff Ryders orbit: DMX, Eve, the Lox, Drag-On and Swizz Beatz’s own solo work. Swizz Beatz told Vibe it took a week to convince DMX to do the song: “He was like, ‘I don’t want those white-boy beats.’” Swizz would go on to produce Top 10 singles for Beyoncé, Lil Wayne, T.I. and Busta Rhymes, and to co-found the popular quarantine-era streaming battle Verzuz.‘Damien’ (1998)The rapper’s most famous storytelling rhyme involves him having a conversation with the devil — a play about fighting his own temptations. “At the time, X was in a really dark place as he was in and out of jail,” the producer Dame Grease told Okayplayer. “He told me he thought he was in hell, mentally, and could hear the devil speaking to him. He wanted to find a way to recreate that feeling.” Two sequels followed, including “The Omen (Damien II),” also in 1998, which featured a guest appearance from the shock-rocker Marilyn Manson, who would go on to have a notable impact on hip-hop, influencing modern goth-tinged artists like Travis Scott and Lil Uzi Vert, among others. The second sequel is “Damien III” (2001).‘Slippin’’ (1998)On this bloodletting, emotionally raw track, DMX confronts his troubled upbringing, his time in various institutions and his addictions with a sober eye. It was a personal and vulnerable look at his life and his struggles in the vein of diarist rappers like Tupac Shakur and Scarface. “X was writing ‘Slippin’’ for a while — six months, a year,” the Ruff Ryders founder Joaquin “Waah” Dean told The Fader. “He wanted this song to be impacting people’s lives.”‘Party Up (Up in Here)’ (2000)Perhaps the most indelible DMX song, “Party Up (Up in Here)” has a chantable, giddy chorus that belies the nimble, severe trash talk in the verses. (“Listen, your ass is about to be missin’/You know who gon’ find you? Some old man fishin’.”) “It’s called ‘Party Up,’ but it’s very disrespectful,” DMX told GQ, adding, “The beat is for the club, I just spit some real [expletive] to it.” The durable track has had a long life thanks to its use in movies like “Gone in 60 Seconds” and TV shows like “The Mindy Project.” Earl Simmons even has a writing credit in the era-defining musical “Hamilton” because of an interpolation used in “Meet Me Inside,” a song that details a conversation between Alexander Hamilton and George Washington.Aaliyah featuring DMX, ‘Come Back in One Piece’ (2000)The 2000 film “Romeo Must Die” was the first film for the R&B superstar Aaliyah and the second for DMX. Though they do not play love interests in the movie, they did team up for this song from the soundtrack, a tune in the mold of hip-hop-soul duets like Method Man and Mary J. Blige’s “I’ll Be There for You/You’re All I Need to Get By.” However, it is almost like DMX refuses to meet R&B halfway: He rhymes an unapologetic full-throated street narrative while Aaliyah plays a beleaguered partner who just wants him to be safe.‘Who We Be’ (2001)“Who We Be” is a plain-spoken list of ills both political and personal, delivered with the thudding fire of an AC/DC song. It was the third and final DMX song to be nominated for a Grammy, but he never ended up taking one home.‘X Gon’ Give It to Ya’ (2003)Though it was a moderate hit when released as a single from the “Cradle 2 the Grave” soundtrack in 2003, “X Gon’ Give It to Ya” has ultimately emerged as the most popular DMX song of the streaming era thanks to its use in the “Deadpool” films and on television’s “Rick and Morty.” DMX intended it for his fifth album, “Grand Champ,” but, seeing its potential, the “Cradle 2 the Grave” producer Joel Silver intervened. It was certified platinum in 2017, nearly 15 years after its release. More

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      DMX's Music Was a Profound Vessel for His Pain

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      The rapper, who died Friday, had no imitators because there was no way to falsify the life that forged him. He was a colossus, a fire-starter and a healer.Even when DMX was the most popular rapper on the planet, he was a genre of one: a gruff, motivational, agitated and poignant fire-starter. Pure vigor and pure heart. A drill sergeant and a healer.In 1998 and 1999, he released three majestic, bombastic albums: “It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot,” “Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood” and “… And Then There Was X.” Each one debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard album chart and has been certified platinum several times over. He performed at Woodstock ’99 for hundreds of thousands of people. He starred in “Belly,” the seminal 1998 hip-hop noir film. In his songs, he growled like a dog, credibly and often.And yet there were no DMX clones in his wake because there was no way to falsify the life that forged him. For DMX — who died Friday at 50 after suffering a heart attack on April 2 — hip-hop superstardom came on the heels of a devastating childhood marked by abuse, drug use, crime and other traumas. His successes felt more like catharsis than triumphalism. Even at his rowdiest and most celebrated, he was a vessel for profound pain.Especially as he got older, and his public struggles — countless arrests, stints in jail, continuing problems with drugs — threatened to overshadow his musical legacy, he never hid his hurt, never let shame overshadow his truth. The potency of his humanity was as heroic as any of his songs.From the release of his debut Def Jam single, “Get at Me Dog,” in 1998, DMX was an immediate titanic presence in hip-hop. Just as the genre was moving toward polished sheen, he preferred iron and concrete — rapping with a muscular throatiness that conveyed an excitable kind of mayhem. The staccato bursts on “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem” — an early Swizz Beatz masterpiece — matched DMX’s jabs of melancholy: “All I know is pain/All I feel is rain.”His voice was unrelentingly coarse, and in his peak era, between 1998 and 2003, he used it for one chest-puffed anthem after another: “Party Up (Up in Here),” “What’s My Name?,” “Who We Be,” “X Gon’ Give It to Ya,” “Where the Hood At?” Often, he rapped as if he were trying to win an argument, with repetitive emphasis and terse phrasing designed for maximum impact. Even when he dipped into flirtation, like on “What These Bitches Want,” he didn’t change his approach.But when he took on his own troubled past on “Slippin’,” he tempered himself just a bit, as if showing himself some grace:They put me in a situation forcing me to be a manWhen I was just learning to stand without a helping hand, damnWas it my fault, something I didTo make a father leave his first kid? At 7 doing my first bidEven though DMX’s time at the top of the genre was relatively brief, just a few ferocious years, he was never erased from its collective memory. That’s partly because the tumult of his personal life constantly landed him in the spotlight — he was arrested dozens of times, for charges including drug possession, aggravated assault, driving without a license and tax evasion. He rescued stray dogs, and tattooed a tribute to one of his dogs, Boomer, across the whole of his back, but also pleaded guilty to animal cruelty charges.But he remained a subject of sympathy: DMX was a wild man, and a broken one, too. Physically abused by his mother as a child, he spent significant stretches of time in group homes. He took to crime young, specializing in robbery. Many of the stories contained in his 2002 book, “E.A.R.L.: The Autobiography of DMX,” are matter of fact and harrowing.In a devastating interview last year, he explained that the person who first encouraged him to rap was also the one who first exposed him to crack, forever intertwining the art that was his salvation with the addiction that constantly threatened to undo him.DMX’s life became a tug of war between his musical gift and his traumas. Beginning in the mid-2000s, he began to fade from the charts. His turns on the big screen, in “Belly,” “Romeo Must Die” and “Exit Wounds,” gave way to turns on sometimes voyeuristic reality television programs like “Couples Therapy,” “Dr. Drew’s Lifechangers” and “Iyanla: Fix My Life.” His search for healing — his need for it — became central to his public narrative.DMX HAD ALREADY learned to tame arenas on the Hard Knock Life and Survival of the Illest tours by the time I first saw him live, in 2000, on the Cash Money/Ruff Ryders tour. It was as jolting as any performance I’ve ever seen — a frantic yet controlled display of raw charisma and might. Toward the end of his set, he stopped cold to offer a prayer. His body was covered in sweat, his voice was gruff, and thousands of people in the room went from boisterous to silent, sideswiped by DMX’s gospel. I saw the tour again a few weeks later — the scene was no less vivid.He’d been doing this for a while by then, startling audiences with his religious fervor. “It damn near brings me to tears every night because I get nothing but love. It’s like I’m taking them to church,” he told the Source in 1999. “I just love ’em to death. I can’t even explain it. Just seeing them look at me the way they do. I can’t help but to love them. And I’m not going to take them to the wrong place.”Every time I’ve seen DMX in the two decades since — from a tiny comeback show at S.O.B.’s in New York to an Easter Sunday convocation with Kanye West at Coachella — he did a version of the prayer, bringing a conflagration of a performance to a halt. On the surface, it seemed like a gift, a way to spread a message about mercy and hope in the unlikeliest of settings. But in those moments, he was also a supplicant laid bare — praying for us, and asking all of us to cover him in return. More